Julia Franck - Back to Back

It’s me, said Thomas. He lay down on the floor so that his face was level with her, and pushed a glass of water under the bed towards her.

Ella drank. It wasn’t easy; she could hardly raise her head, only tilt the glass and put it near her lips.

Coming for a bike ride with me?

Ella shook her head. The blue elephants are out there, and I don’t want anything to do with them.

I’ll shoo them away.

If she’d had the strength for it, Ella would have laughed. As it was, she just said: If only you could.

Thomas thought. Tell me about the mountain when our father came up it, with his bike and his easel. He had a bike, didn’t he? Wasn’t our father glad to see you? Didn’t he pick you up and hug you, you were his little doll, weren’t you?

What?

Go on, tell the story again. Thomas turned on his side, one arm under his head, and looked expectantly at her.

When our father came back I was in the way.

Nonsense, you were his little doll, he picked you up.

Only when he left.

No, when he arrived.

Ella shook her head. She didn’t remember much, but she did remember that she had lied. For herself and for Thomas. She had said their father tossed her up in the air. But that was nothing but her made-up picture; she saw a man tossing a little girl up in the air. So it couldn’t be true. If it had been her, she wouldn’t see the little girl in her memory, she would feel the dizziness of being whirled around, she would remember her father’s arms. But there was no such memory. Only a physical memory of being in the way. Her body, what Ella was and would be, was in the way. I was in their way. There were little mauve flowers where I was sitting, the meadow was full of cranesbill. They wouldn’t let me into the house. They locked the door on the inside. I can still hear myself screaming: I want to come in. And I’m shaking the door, and I know it will never open again. Like in the fairy tale. A door that will stay shut for ever. It will be overgrown by plants, one day it will be invisible. One day no one will ever find any trace of that door. So I scream as loud as I can: I want to come in too. Let me in. I want to be with you. I cried as loudly as I could.

What about me?

You were happily waving your legs in the air under the tree, that’s where she put you to sleep in the daytime, in the handcart under the walnut tree. Later you screamed too. And I went over to the handcart and pinched your hand to make you stop.

Do it again. Thomas reached his hand out to her. Pinch me again.

I can’t, I don’t have any feeling in my hands. I don’t think I can move them any more.

Stop making things up, Ella. Thomas withdrew his hand and lay on his front, propping his head in his hands. Stop it, please! You drank out of that glass just now. Maybe Thomas thought he could outwit her.

Just now, yes.

And not now, this minute? Thomas waited for a while, probably hoping for Ella to answer. But she didn’t, and he got up and left the room.

She couldn’t even think of sleeping. It was cold under the bed. It was dark when Ella stole down the corridor to the bathroom. There she turned on the geyser and waited until the water was hot. She lit a candle so as not to attract attention in the middle of the night; it might wake other people up. The candle stood firmly on the floor, fixed to the tiles with drops of hot wax. The taps crunched as she turned the cold one off, the hot one on. The white stream of water poured into the tub. Steam rose, the air was so cold, the water so hot. When Ella climbed in, the soles of her feet burned, her calves burned, all her skin burned. Gooseflesh without a feather coat to cover it.

Ella lay in the tub, the nape of her neck against the rim, which was still cool. She felt dizzy. There was a rattling at the door. It must be her imagination. No one went rattling at any old door in the middle of the night, it might wake other people up. Ella said nothing, and held her breath. But no one else woke up, and while the rattling of the door went on Ella saw, by the light of the candle, how the bolt was lifting bit by bit away from the door frame. Until the door sprang open. The lodger fell on his knees. Looking up, he saw Ella lying there naked in front of him. He kicked the door until it latched. Still on his knees, he approached the bathtub. Hey, look at that, a nymph. I knew it!

That made Ella giggle. Numph , he said, sounding as if he had a hot potato in his mouth as he turned his exotic word over on his tongue, which was already hanging out of his mouth. Ella hoped her dizziness wouldn’t overpower her. You’re insane, sick.

We still decide who’s sick around here, he said, putting one hand in Ella’s bathwater. Ella didn’t move. Nausea paralysed her.

Have you made up your mind? The lodger put his hand on Ella’s breast. They’re putting pressure on me. You’re going to cooperate, aren’t you? You want peace, you love your country?

Ella didn’t take in what she was hearing and didn’t believe what she saw. It was as if the lodger were taking the candle in his hand, putting it into the water, extinguishing the flame against her body.

Ella turned in the bathtub, until she couldn’t see anything. It was nice and quiet underwater. She felt something strange against her body, her hands, fingers, limbs. Was he pushing her into the water, extinguishing himself on her body? Darkness and cold. Something pushed into her and tore at her until silence came.

Then glaring light, only for a moment, she kept her eyes tight closed. Something was pulling at her, she was being raised and held tight and pushed underwater, but she knew nothing about it, and trusted the dizziness that made everything go dark.

A cold sheet. The yielding mattress made her backbone soft. Ella sat up; there was a light on the bedside table, there was twilight on the other side of the curtains, either morning or evening twilight, the door was ajar. Käthe appeared.

At last. She went up to the bed and put her hand to Ella’s forehead. We thought you were never going to come round. How long ago was it since Käthe last stroked her hair? What were you thinking of, having a bath in the middle of the night? Ella had seldom heard love in this woman’s voice.

Ella bowed her head.

Did you go to sleep?

Ella looked at Käthe in astonishment. Did I do that? She smiled, she’d been trying to sleep for weeks. Was she supposed to have fallen asleep in the tub? What about the lodger?

You can be grateful to him for finding you. But for him you’d have drowned.

And I didn’t?

He revived you.

He. . what?

He pulled you out of the tub, revived you and then called me. Käthe looked tired.

Ella didn’t know what to say. Her body knew that she had not been dreaming, had not fallen asleep, it hurt and burned down where he had been.

You must get better now, sleep a bit. And then, before Monday, we must talk. You have to go back to school. This can’t go on.

Ella nodded, the sheet was clammy with sweat, someone had put a hot-water bottle and several hot stones in the bed to warm her up and make her sweat. Sweat was clinging to her forehead, running down her temples.

Come on, I’ll help you. You need a dry nightdress. Käthe went over to the wardrobe and took a nightdress out. She went over to Ella’s bed and pulled at the clammy fabric. Raise your arms, it won’t work unless you do. Ella tried to raise her arms, but they were too heavy.

Ella. How long was it since Käthe had spoken her name.

Your voice is as soft as whipped cream, Mami, I love your voice.

Now, raise your arms in the air. Impatiently, Käthe tugged at Ella’s nightdress. You’re not a baby. She said ‘baby’ in a stilted voice, contemptuously, as if she were quoting her American brother and his wife. Affection made her uneasy. Maybe she just didn’t have the patience for love. Ella raised her arms in the air, lost her balance, and while Käthe was still pulling the nightdress off Ella tipped over backwards on the pillows.